


It's Not Fair, It's Not Right

by High_Spanxicutioner



Category: Nuclear Throne (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Corruption, Eldritch, Eldritch Abominations, Monsters, Other, Spitroasting, Transformation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21659356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/High_Spanxicutioner/pseuds/High_Spanxicutioner
Summary: The trek to the Throne is long and arduous, but Rogue is nearly there. All she needs to do is fight through the strange palace housing the Throne, and avoid or defeat the strange monstrous abominations lurking within it.Such a shame she fails. After all, who knows what those things could do to her...
Kudos: 9





	It's Not Fair, It's Not Right

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress! This fic will eventually include body horror, transformation, corruption, and all sorts of other nasty things, so stay tuned!

Footsteps echo over the faded, crumbling walls of a ruined palace as a young woman limps down its deserted halls.  
The last firefight hadn't been kind to her, a stray bullet hitting her in the leg before she managed to jump into the swirling portal bridging the few populated parts of the planet, but while her determination wavered, it's yet to break. She'd patched up the wound as best she could, calling on the skills she'd had hammered into her from the training she'd undertaken for her former job. That feels a like a lifetime ago to her now, but the knowledge is still there, moving her hands and dressing her wounds like a second nature. With no painkillers on hand, all the woman can do is move forward, gritting her teeth and walking it off until the pain subsides to a dull throb and she can ready herself for what's to come.

The hardships this woman has faced on her way to this point are immeasurable and unbelievable, fantastical tales of high octane danger contrasting with fitful, restless sleep with one hand on her rifle, but now she's close. She can practically taste it, and she's convinced this wasn't a waste of her time.  
The Throne is real. She will find it.

Unlike every other area that the woman - Rogue, she's calling herself now that she's put her old life behind her - has visited on her roadtrip through the ruined wasteland of a world, the palace is quiet.   
Not like the howling winds of the desert, the chittering hive of activity of the sewers, the creaking robotic humming of the iced-over city... if she stops, and holds her breath to stop the crackling of her air filter, Rogue can just about make out something strange in the distance, a strange pulsing of sound, low and unsettling. Beyond that, it seems as though nothing's made much of a noise here for untold years, leading her to feel like more of an intruder than she did in areas where everything tried to kill her for daring to trespass in their home.

Her grip on her rifle tightens a little, her breathing kept measured and calm. Inhale, wait for the crackle of her filter to subside, exhale. Rinse, repeat, put one foot in front of the other. Keep moving, don't stop, if you stop you'll be caught...  
Enough effort has to be poured into just continuing to move forward through this alien, inhospitable residence that Rogue almost doesn't notice the danger looming around the corner until it's too late; a sharp cry sounds through the still air as she reacts to a projectile slamming into the doorway she'd been about to walk through, and the former soldier throws herself back behind it, out in the hallway with her rifle readied. It's not surprising to her that the trial by combat isn't yet over; she's more than steeled herself for taking more lives before her journey is over.

A look is risked, Rogue's head peeking around the doorframe so that she can get a look at her assailants... 

...And what she sees makes her gasp in surprise, her eyes widening and her motion stilling as she tries to make sense of the monstrosity before her. Glowing, pulsating, it looks to be something that shouldn't be anything more than a formless illusion but that still moves with obvious weight to it. Constructed in the vague form of a humanoid body, its featureless face and rounded limbs are more of a mockery than a comfort, the crackling green energy coming off it in rapid, jittery arcs only lends the creature an air of sickening, lurching menace.  
With shaking hands, Rogue raises her rifle, taking careful aim at the creature. She steadies her breathing, squeezing the trigger to let off a burst of two bullets, each thunking into the creature and displacing its form; first seeming viscous, splashing outwards, then crackling like a jittery recording, before settling back down entirely. Unphased, the creature drifts closer, raising one of its rounded arms to point at her as another volley of wobbling green projectiles rocket into the wall, narrowly missing her face. Starting to panic, Rogue lets loose burst after burst of bullets, slamming them into the creature's amorphous, flowing body while backing herself up against a wall.   
The continued barrage of gunfire does have some sort of an effect on the creature, its steps starting to falter and a few screeching, staticky noises filtering out from it, before it collapses to the ground and melts away, leaving behind green discolouration on the ground and a lingering smell of burning and acrid citrus that permeates even through Rogue's filter, making her cough and turn her head away.

Her reprieve is predictably short lived, more of those unnerving abominations drifting through the open doorway and right towards her, unaffected by their fallen comrade's supposed demise.  
With eyes still watering from the lingering smell, Rogue raises her rifle once again, determination settling in as she squeezes the trigger, aiming at the closest monster's head...

...Only for her rifle to give out a defeated 'click' after the first burst leaves it, depleted of ammunition. Normally, Rogue's response would be to find some more in the populated areas, but here...

Before she even has time to withdraw the wrench she's kept on hand just in case, the crackling monstrosities are on her. Rogue gives out a sharp cry as one's arm makes contact with hers, a lancing shock of something not quite pain jolting all the way up to the shoulder even after she yanks herself away.  
She backtracks, her movements jittery and desperate, her foot falling wrong and sending her crashing to the ground. Even before she's up on her elbows, aiming to sit up, her assailants loom above her, and she doesn't have time to even instinctively react before they're upon her in full.

Even through her suit, the touch of those monstrous limbs is electrifying, enough to make her scream and try to scoot away, but the creatures aren't content with allowing her that meagre protection.  
Their touch is firm, then soft, then sticky then achingly, blisteringly hot and dry, and even with their lack of fingers they somehow manage to get a purchase on her uniform. Her rebreather comes first, making her breath catch in her throat as she's exposed to the potentially lethal contaminants of the air, but even that otherwise devastating loss goes by too quickly to find purchase in her panicked, desperate mind.   
After her mask comes the rest of her suit, their touches melting the fabric like acid in spots while others slice through like little knives, exposing first her underclothes, then her bare skin, hot and flushed from the exertion of her struggling and from the general physical nature of the firefights that took her here. 

It's only when the strange beings get bare skin that they start to give any meaningful reaction at all, their movements slowing, limbs hovering over her without quite touching. All the while, they start to rumble, sickening vibrations and low rushing noises like a waterfall in slow motion emanating from them as they survey their thrashing, grunting captive's slightly bared skin.  
With little effort, one of the two assailants drifts a little further down, bringing Rogue's legs apart and setting about burning and melting away all the clothing covering the woman's lower half; while the other one continues to pin her down, those rushing vocalisations getting louder and louder to drown out her shrieking and cursing before eventually one large 'hand' descends on her face, coating her entire face in the electrifying, maddening sensation, filling her mouth with viscous and acidic substance that makes her eyes roll back after a few seconds of ingestion. 

She's conscious, still, but her thrashing motions slow to a stop after a few seconds, her chest rising and falling with panicked, impulsive breathing as her head swims and her body alights with a feverish heat.  
It'd be a lie to call it solely unpleasant, but equally misleading to label the sensation pleasure; were she still able to scream, she would in an instant, even before her clothes are stripped from her and that same jolt of pins-and-needles discomfort is applied to her legs, her inner thighs, creeping further and further up...

Even with her head swimming and her limbs growing heavy from whatever it is seeping down her throat and into her stomach, Rogue screams again as that strange emerald static electricity dances over her sex and seeps down into her skin a little deeper, the sensation firmer and more solid than anywhere else on her body.   
With all her energy for fighting back sapped from her, Rogue whimpers pitifully into the strong-tasting goo in her mouth, her body twitching and convulsing with each particularly firm pass over her sex, the tears welling up in her eyes only spilling over her cheeks as something longer and firmer slides up into her. Whatever it is this thing is using to penetrate her, it's certainly not a penis, and it's certainly made of the same material as its body; the jolting and convulsing only gets worse as the almost unbearable heat fills her up, dragging a few more ragged shrieks from her as sobs start to rack through her body. 

Now that the creatures have her pinned down and penetrated from both ends, they start thrumming and vibrating with a little more intensity, the strange glow surrounding their bodies flickering and dancing as they seep and writhe within her, ambivalent and uncaring towards her meek and weakened sounds of protest, each sensation only growing in intensity before a flood of searing-hot liquid rushes from them and into her, making the former soldier scream one last time before she fades away into unconsciousness, leaving her body to spasm and convulse once they finally pull free from her, leaving sticky-green and glowing liquid seeping out down her inner thighs.


End file.
